The Room
That room.
That room with those four walls that have been painted over,
and the pictures which have been erased and drawn again.

That room which contains so many of my memories,
a majority of time we shared was here.

That room smelled like death before it even occurred;

this room is the one that I memorized every detail.

This is the room which is permanently engrained in my head;
this is the room that haunts me, asleep or awake.

People tell me it is better to have loved and lost—
than never to have loved at all.

But I disagree.

Because in loving you I know that I once had you,
and now you are gone, I can never get you back no matter how hard I try.

I remember everything about you—
I remember how you used to dress, how you used to smell,
and more importantly, your voice.

I remember how you used to tell all of your friends I was the best thing that ever happened to you.

I remember how at night when I couldn’t sleep;
I would think about you and instantly fall asleep. I felt safe.

I remember how you used to wait by the phone every night,
wishing I would call so you could hear my voice.

I remember how I would call you bawling,
and you would comfort me, telling me everything will be okay.

And I remember how you were always there when I needed you the most.

In Loving Memory Of:
Donna Denise (Mother)